Brandy and Remembrance
by Bathorybabe
Summary: Overwhelmed by the choices she is forced to make, Elodie Trevelyan drowns her sorrows in brandy, following Hawke's death. When her commander interrupts her indulgence she urges him to join her, and together they mourn the both the people and the choices this war asks of them. As more liquor is poured and more tears are shed, Cullen and Elodie find comfort in unexpected arms. Lemon!


**A/N: Hello lovies! Welcome to my first DA:I lemon. I'd been kicking this conversation between Cullen and Trevelyan around in my head for a while, and had been wanting to engage in a bit of harmless smut as well, and thought, why not combine them? Thus is this weighty, some what long, lemony one shot.**

**This follows my "Glycerine" cannon, so if you are curious about the relationship mentioned between Thais Amell and Cullen feel free to head on over to that story and give it a read.**

**Also feel free to drop by my dystopian AU fic entiteled "When the fall is all that's left."**

**Thanks for reading lovies, hope you enjoy. **

**Obviously NSFW, smut and sexual situations ahead. You have been warned.**

Elodie Trevelyan poured herself another glass of brandy and drank deep, hoping that this would be the swallow that would erase the past week from her mind. The liquor burned at her throat, sliding down until it pooled in her belly, a warmth flushing outward to suffuse her limbs. She had been at it for an hour, trying to drown her sorrows in as much brandy as she could stomach, praying for oblivion to claim her. Try as she might, she could not erase what had happened in the fade from her mind, nor could she forget the look of utter and all encompassing pain upon Varric's face when she had told him the news.

Analeese Hawke was gone, and it was her fault.

Elodie had been the one to give the order, thinking a broken army of wardens more useful than a lone woman. Analeese had never flinched, had done what was asked of her, and gone to her death in the same manner in which she had lived her life; a hero. It mattered little that Elodie had barely known the woman, the legend of her was enough to maker her familiar in the Inquisitor's eyes. But there were many who _had_ known Analeese, had called the woman friend and lover, and it was to those that her absence from this world would be the hardest on. Elodie had no right to mourn, not when compared to the ones who knew her best, but mourn she did, in liquor and unshed tears, trying to outrun the woman's last words as they circled through her brain.

_Tell Varric goodbye for me_.

On the surface it was such a simple request, but when faced with actually relaying the grave news, Elodie had realized it would probably be the hardest thing she had ever done. Varric had tried to bear it with his trade mark wit but ultimately failed, his voice cracking upon relaying a tale of Analeese's many antics. Losing the woman had broken something inside the dwarf, and Elodie watched as grief settled over him, pressing down upon the man until he seemed unable to stand upright, the weight of it too much for his stocky shoulders.

And all of it, including his grief, was her fault.

Elodie closed her eyes, willing herself to breath deep, but hysteria threatened low in her throat, and she grit her teeth against the scream that tried to claw it's way upward. Needing to let her guilt out in some way, she instead gripped the glass decanter of brandy tight in her fist, hauled back, and flung it angrily against the nearest wall. It shattered instantly, shards of glass exploding outward to dance in the firelight, casting a mosaic of glittering diamonds upon the walls. Elodie breathed hard, the echo of the impact ringing her in ears, feeling as fractured as the glass upon the floor.

"Is everything all right, Inquisitor?" she heard Cullen ask from behind her. She had been so wrapped up in her grief that she had not heard him enter her chambers, a strange lapse in her otherwise flawless attention.

"Peachy," she replied turning her back upon the mess.

"The broken glass and brandy upon your floor speaks otherwise."

"Worry not; I have another bottle," she assured him with mock cheerfulness, striding over to to her desk grab at yet another bottle of spirits. "Come in, Commander, join me for a drink. Or if libations aren't to your liking there's plenty of delicate and breakable crap to smash against the walls." Cullen hesitated only briefly before fully entering her room, his eyes glancing about at the many baubles and trinkets she had displayed through out. He had never before been in her chambers, and Elodie could tell he felt uneasy about being present in them now.

"The warden's have reported in," he offered formally. "Stroud is confident in their numbers and offers assurances that while Adamant was a tragedy, it will in no way affect their ability to assist the inquisition."

"Grand," Elodie muttered as she poured herself another drink.

"You are not pleased?"

"How could you have possibly guessed?" she asked sardonically, dosing out a generous amount of brandy for the man. She held the glass out in offering, shaking it a bit when he hesitated. Cullen eventually took the libation, bringing it to his lips and swallowing it in one long pull. He shuddered slightly at the sensation, but motioned for a refill, and Elodie happily obliged. "What about you? You should be overjoyed to have another regiment at your command."

"The wardens will be helpful allies," he answered with out inflection.

"And yet something tells me you're less than thrilled."

"I knew Hawke," Cullen replied quietly, drinking deep from his second glass of spirits.

"Ah yes. You were stationed in Kirkwall. Fought beside her. Comrades in arms and all that," Elodie muttered, sipping upon her own brandy. She had finally managed to get herself tipsy, and the room began to feel pleasantly warm. The fire seemed to burn low and bright all at once, and a languid sort of feeling filled her limbs.

"It went beyond that. Analeese and I...we had a friendship. Of sorts."

"Of sorts?" Elodie echoed, snorting. "How'd that happen?"

"She was in possession of a relic, I guess you would call it. A journal, belonging to her cousin, that she left in my keeping. Long before Meredith lost her sanity."

"That's it? She gave you a book and you two bonded? Quite the gripping tale, Commander," Elodie remarked with a roll of her eyes. She leaned back against the desk, crossing her feet at the ankles and motioned for Cullen to join her. He complied, somewhat stiffly, but with each sip of liquor she could see him relax a bit more. Her and the commander had always had a strictly professional relationship. No matter how handsome the man was, the fact remained that he was too controlled for Elodie's liking. She preferred sarcasm and spontaneity to propriety and caution. It was refreshing to see him let go a bit, even if the cause of such a thing was slightly morbid.

"The journal was simply a catalyst," Cullen clarified, pouring himself another drink. "Who Analeese was, what she represented, that is what drew me to her. Like all women in possession of Amell blood, she was destined for great things."

"Wait. Amell? So the cousin you spoke of was-"

"The Hero of Ferelden," Cullen answered for her. "Thais. It was her journal that Analeese gifted me with. Though it was less a journal and more an accounting of a...very painful time."

"Well that sounds ominous and all together interesting," she murmured, turning over the thought in her head. She paused for a moment, her drink-addled mind struggling to put two and two together. "Hold on, before serving in Kirkwall you served in Ferelden's circle. So you must have known Thais."

"I knew her. For a time," he answered hesitantly.

"And somehow I doubt that fully explains it. Come on, Commander. It's half past way too late and I'm on the verge of being good and soused. Regale me with the tale. After all that's what drunks do; wax poetic about the painful parts of their life to anyone willing to listen. Enlighten me. Just what lay between the hero of Ferelden and you?"

"What lay between us?" he echoed with a sigh, gazing out into the distance as if he could see the past on the horizon. "Some would call it an infatuation. Others a giant mistake."

"What would you call it?"

"Love," he answered quietly, turning his gaze to hers. Elodie could see a lifetime's worth of heartache in the man's eyes, and she suddenly regretted prying into the issue. "Thais and I...had an adventure some months before she was conscripted. In the chaos of it all we managed to find solace in one another's arms, at least for a time, however brief"

"What happened?"

"Neither one of us could quite forgive the other for being who we were. I accused her of vile things, some of which she was guilty of, but I could not find in it me to forgive. Not until it was too late and she was already beyond my reach."

"When she was conscripted, you mean," Elodie clarified gently.

"No. Long after that." Cullen muttered, staring down into his now empty glass. Elodie quietly reached out and refilled it for him, silently urging him to continue. "She eventually found happiness with another, as she rightly should have, and I was left to nurse a broken heart that was my own doing."

"Who on earth did she end up with?" Elodie asked, confused now by the tale. "The woman was gallivanting around Thedas, fighting darkspawn, when would she have found the time to-"

"The King." The words stunned Elodie silent, and for a time the crackling of the flames in the fireplace was the only sound that came between them.

"Alistair?" she asked at last, unable to keep silent any longer. "The King and the Hero of Ferelden? Well, that's the most exciting bit of gossip I've heard in a while." Cullen tightened his jaw at her words, and she winced, ashamed at having made light of the situation. "Sorry."

"He was kind to her. For a time," the commander continued after a moment. He shook his head and let out a bitter, breathy laugh, eyes closed against the pain of remembering. "Poor Thais. If it wasn't me branding her a maleificar every five fucking minutes, it was the bloody King telling her the nobility would never accept a union between their liege and a mage. She went to her death never knowing what it was to have someone love her without reservation, and I carry much regret for my complicity in that."

"And Hawke?" Elodie prodded, wanting to know the connection between the three key players in this drama being spun out before her.

"Analeese was...well, honestly, she was a pain in the ass," he remarked with a fond chuckle. "But it was part of her charm. As I said she was Thais' cousin, and as such I clung to our acquaintance as a way to ease the pain of loosing the first woman I ever loved. I helped her whenever I could and eventually a...friendship developed."

"Friendship? Is that all?"

"I knew she was...interested," he hedged. "Much like all the women in the Amell family tree, subtlety was a foreign concept. But I turned her down."

"Are you bat shit? The woman was gorgeous. Hell, I contemplated making a play for her, and I don't even like women!" Cullen choked a bit on his brandy when she mentioned this, earning him a wicked sort of smile from Elodie. "Does that shock you, Commander?"

"Hardly, simply paints a picture I'm trying very hard not to envision," he snorted, though the shadow of a grin threatened at the edge of his lips.

"So why did you turn her down?" she asked, voice still holding a bit of mirth.

"I was scared. I was raw over the events of Kinloch Hold and still reeling from Thais' death. It was...She was...very tempting, but I couldn't shake the notion that she would have merely been a substitution for a woman long dead. And Analeese deserved more than that. So I kept her at arms length." Cullen put aside his glass at this, clearly done imbibing for the evening. It appeared as if the commander could not hold his liquor as well as she, and Elodie watched as the man's eyes became ever so slightly glassy. Figuring she had indulged enough as well, she followed suit and let out a world weary sigh.

"So there was nothing between the two of you?" Elodie asked after a time. "No forbidden liaison that Varric could spin into some tawdry tale and sell for two silvers a copy?"

"There was one night," Cullen confessed. "But nothing more. And that, in and of itself, was barely anything at all. All I could offer Analeese was my friendship, and she eventually saw that and moved on to other conquests."

"Anders?" The question was more a formality than anything else. Most everyone across Thedas knew of the tragic love affair between the Champion of Kirkwall and the mage who sparked a revolution.

"Yes. The Mage." The word was said with so much disdain it was a wonder Cullen didn't smash his fist into something when he uttered it. "I heard she executed him herself. Having once had to contemplate cutting down the person I loved, I can only image the hell of actually seeing it through. I think a part of her broke that night. She sided with the templars in the end, only to be repaid in heartache. The Order turned Anders into a symbol for all that was corrupt and vile about magic, and Analeese couldn't stand the constant demonizing of a man she once loved. Our friendship fractured a bit after that. Even though I had left the order, she never could stop seeing me as a templar. I would occasionally receive letters from her, detailing her adventures. They were few and far between, and eventually stopped all together. I told myself it was because she had disappeared, gone into hiding, but I knew it was because of what I represented: a member of an order than had taken everything from her. And now, she too is gone."

"Not necessarily She could have survived, slaughtered that-" Elodie started to argue, playing at optimism if only for his sake.

"Do me the favor of not patronizing me, Inquisitor," he interrupted, leveling an impatient look at her. "Even if she had managed to slay that creature, it does not change the fact that she is stuck in the fade. Not in mind but in body. No food, no water, surrounded by nightmares and demons free of any leash. Analeese Hawke is dead...or as good as."

"Well, if it makes you feel the slightest bit better, I'm sick at myself for having sent her there," Elodie murmured, pushing away from the desk and hugging herself tightly. The guilt and grief from earlier had come rushing back, made all the more instant by the large amounts of brandy she had consumed.

"Why did you?" There was the smallest hint of accusation in the question, and she flinched under the weight of it. But he had every right in the world to ask, much as she had been asking herself over and over since that fateful night.

"Because I ran the numbers, Cullen," she answered at last. "The Champion of Kirkwall was a great woman who did a great many things and probably would have done a great many more. But she didn't have an army at her back. Stroud did. So I chose troops over the legend."

"Why does it upset you so?" he asked, hearing the edge of hysteria in her voice. He gently crossed the room to meet her, a hand hovering over her shoulder as if unsure whether or not he should offer comfort. "You barely knew her."

"Because I reduced the value of a woman's merit to arithmetic!" Elodie lamented. "And she wasn't the first, not by a long shot. How many people's lives have I measured as some fucking calculus equation? How many men and women have I sent to their deaths because their tally wasn't high enough?"

"It's the nature of War," Cullen murmured gently.

"Well the nature of it is shit," she remarked on a bitter laugh. "Maker, I'm the daughter of a nobleman. I'm not made for this. I'm too outspoken to play 'the game,' too tenderhearted to send men to their deaths, too clumsy for scheming and spying, too...There's so much blood on my hands and I can't get it off." Her words trailed off into a shattered whisper, and a single tear fell from her midnight blue eyes.

"Elodie," Cullen murmured low, her name sounding strange upon his lips. It was the first time she could ever recall him addressing her by her given name, and it made something in her shudder, though not necessarily in a bad way.

"How many more will I have to send to their deaths, Cullen?" she asked quietly. "How many more graves will be dug on my word?"

"You cannot think that way," he urged, grasping her hands tightly in his. The warmth of his palm sent shock waves through her. Maker, how long had it been since she'd been touched by someone? How long since she had experienced the blessing of simple human contact?

"How can I not?" she pleaded. "It is every damn day, Cullen. Every hour is there is some new missive; this person or that crying out for help and I send our troops off to do battle. And every time I do less men return than the day before. To say nothing of those that perish because of my choices. It is _everyday_ and I am only one woman." She was outright sobbing now, her breaths coming in gasping pants, as if the very air needed to make room for the grief and guilt that filled her up. "When does it stop? When do I get to stop playing at god? I didn't want this, any of it. This isn't what my life was supposed to be!"

Cullen gathered her into his arms as she let out a grief-stricken wail, pulling her close and muttering soothing words of nonsense. Elodie screamed into his chest, the sound muffled and pathetic as she let go of all that she had carried with her for far too long. It was more than just Analeese. It was Varric, and Haven and Justinia. It was the thousand faceless and nameless men a women who's lives were red marks on her soul. Through it all Cullen held her, one hand gently stroking her hair, the other pressing her close. He stood calmly in the center of her storm, never wavering and never once abandoning her.

Elodie cried until she was depleted, empty of nearly everything she had to give. Guilt had carved out a place inside her, filling endlessly with the names of her dead, but it was empty now. Her penance had been unleashed in a torrent of words and tears. To be sure it would fill once more, but for now it was enough that she was hollow.

Even after she was quiet Cullen continued to hold her, his quiet strength holding her upright when hers could not. Together they stood for quite some time, breathing in the scent of one another, each taking comfort in the others presence. Eventually Elodie lifted her head, intending to move back and break contact, but Cullen's grip never slackened, and she found herself a hair's breadth away from her commander's lips. He had probably not meant to put them in such a position, but hindsight only works in reverse and Elodie found she could not look away. A dangerous sort of tension crept between them and Elodie flicked her gaze upwards, needing to know if Cullen had felt the shift as well. He stared down at her with a guarded expression, hesitant and and all together uncertain. There was something else, however, lingering in his hazel eyes; a wondering that was wicked in its intent. That, coupled with the brandy swimming in her veins, was enough to have her moving forward ever so slightly.

It was the barest brush of lips, a hovering almost, but Elodie could feel it in her very center; a shuddering of breath and satin caress that woke a part of her she thought long dead. Cullen closed his eyes, his grip upon her tightening, and for a moment she worried he would leave bruises on her skin.

"Elodie, we shouldn't," he whispered, even as his hand rose to tangle in her hair.

"Just for tonight," she pleaded. "Please. I wont ask anything of you...but please, Cullen." He searched her eyes with his own, as if weighing the unseen consequences of seeing this foolishness through. Elodie brought her lips to his once more and closed her eyes, hovering on the precipice of a kiss. "Just let me feel something besides grief," she whispered, the words barely more than breath fanning out against his skin. Whatever he heard in her voice must have swayed him, and Cullen cursed low before slanting his mouth across hers.

Elodie's gasp was swallowed as he took her face in his hands, expertly, gently, but thoroughly kissing the very breath from her. She responded in kind, eager to have the taste of him on her tongue. The kiss quickly turned from gentle to desperate, and small noises of need began to rise from Elodie's throat. Her hands scrambled at his armor, fingers clumsily searching for the many buckles and clasps that held it in place. She moaned in frustration when no progress was made, and Cullen responded by gently removing her hands and replacing them with his own. He made short work of the armor, allowing it to clatter to the floor in an inelegant pile, and Elodie greedily reached for him once more, pulling him close and crashing her lips against his. All that metal and leather had kept her from truly feeling him, and she nearly moaned at having him so close. Cullen began to feather kisses across her jaw, lips leading a burning trail from her mouth to her neck, and Elodie complied, tilting her head back in an unspoken invitation. She could feel his teeth rasp over the sensitive place where shoulder joined neck and she cried out softly, a hand rising to tangle in his hair and urge him closer.

With less than gentle lips and hands Cullen explored her, his nimble fingers trailing across every bit of exposed flesh until she fair quivered from all the teasing. Wanting desperately to feel him upon her flesh she ran a hand beneath the white cambric shirt that hung loosely upon his frame, her fingertips tracing over the corded muscles of his stomach. She could feel scars hidden there, raised and slightly textured, and she played along their lines, caressing and teasing, until she found one that cut low across his hip and she followed it down to where it disappeared beneath his breeches. Cullen hissed at this, his pelvis thrusting forward and his head bowed. Elodie pressed a grin into his shoulder, before removing her hand and kissing him with renewed need. Cullen responded with a fierceness, his hands clawing at her as he sought to remove her tunic. When he had succeeded in tearing the garment from her torso, he yanked her close, crushing her to his chest as his hands trailed a burning path up her spine. Elodie mewled, her hips rolling forward until she could feel the length of him, hard and hot behind his breeches. Cullen growled at this and urged her forward, nipping at her bottom lip as he hastily guided them towards her elegant bed.

Elodie collapsed backwards when she felt the mattress hit her knees, and Cullen followed suit, quickly sliding up along her torso to steal another kiss. His arousal pressed insistently against her belly, and she spread her legs, allowing his hips to drop into the cradle of her own. His hand reached down to cup at her breast, a thumb rolling over her tight and beaded nipple, and Elodie arched her back, begging for more. The room began to spin as Cullen traced kisses down her jaw, her neck, her shoulders, lips leading him on a path that ended with his hot mouth upon her breast, tongue laving at the tightened tip. Elodie gasped out his name, her hips rising off the bed to thrust into his, all at once lost to the pleasure and yet seeking more. The two writhed against one another, legs tangled and hips rolling as they discovered one another's flesh with desperate, grasping hands. There was a rhythm to it all, each lick and suck from Cullen punctuated with a seductive gyration from her. They were driving each other to the sweetest kind of frustration, the small gasps and moans urging each of them on as they sought to satisfy their mutual need.

It seemed as if she would never get enough of him, each caress and kiss baptizing her anew. Elodie could feel the shame and guilt of the past few months spiral out of her, replaced with nothing but simple, base desire. This is what she had needed, had been needing for months it would seem, but she had never thought to look for it, least of all with her commander. Cullen, for his part, seemed to to be just as desperate for what they were sharing as she and he breathed her name softly against her ear, as if it were a benediction for all that he had done wrong in his life.

Elodie began to quiver as her commander slid a hand between them, fingers nimbly slipping beneath her breeches and smalls to brush at her sex. Her back nearly bowed up off the bed at the contact, and she let her legs fall open as wide as they were able, allowing him greater access. He was maddeningly thorough, patiently exploring her with firm precise strokes. Elodie could feel herself grow wetter with every pass, and she squirmed, needing more yet unwilling to have him stop. There was a heat that filled her, desperate and wild, and she ached deliciously in ever part of her for it.

"Cullen, please, you're driving me mad," she whimpered, thrusting into his hand.

"I know," he murmured low against her lips before slowly sliding two fingers deep within her. Elodie nearly came right then and there. A ragged cry burst from her throat and she closed her eyes, reveling at the sudden invasion. Cullen settled into an easy rhythm, his thrusts lazy but punctuated with a delicious sort of force. With every pass he would brush against that secret spot, the place where her pleasure lived, and Elodie could feel it begin to build inside her. It was like brush fire; one minute smoldering and the next lighting her up. Pleasure burst across her skin in a rush, and she could feel her sex clamp down on Cullen's fingers in pulsing waves. As her climax wracked her body she let out a hoarse cry, hands fisting at the bedsheets and eyes closed tight. It seemed endless and she rode it out with abandon, Cullen tending to her all the while. When at last she quieted, her legs shaking and her muscles tightening with aftershocks, she lurched upwards and pulled Cullen down, flipping their positions until he was pressed to the mattress and she hovered over him.

Wanting to wait not a second longer Elodie made quick work of his breeches, unlacing them and sliding them down his legs. She quickly shimmied out of hers soon after and kicked them away, eagerly crawling back atop the bed. When she swung a leg across his hips, Cullen stilled her, hands gripping into her sides and demanding her attention.

"Are you sure of this, Elodie?" he asked quietly, ever the gentleman though lust burned deep in his eyes. Elodie answered him with a gentle kiss before positioning herself above him and slowly lowering herself down. She could feel every inch of his arousal as she made her descent and Cullen hissed in ecstasy, his fingers digging into the flesh above her hips. Throwing her head back in pleasure, Elodie took him to the hilt, indulging in how he stretched and filled her. It had been so very long since she had taken a man to her bed, and she had forgotten the wet heat of it all, the hardness that made her feel so sensually full and the satin texture of a lover cradled deep inside her core. It was overwhelming and she took a minute to savor it, memorizing the way Cullen pulsed within her, his muscles taut and straining as he fought against the primal need to take her hard and fast. Thinking she had tormented him enough with her savoring she ever so slowly she began to roll her hips, a gentle forward, up, down, back that brought a gasp to both their lips. Cullen encouraged her, raising his pelvis to meet her every movement, forcing her to take him deeper with every down swing. Elodie braced her palms upon his chest, needing the leverage as she rode him, and shuddered deep, thinking she could never find a pleasure as perfect as this.

As their pace increased Cullen pushed himself upright, wrapping an arm about her waist and pulling her close. Elodie cried out at this new position, the angle allowing for more friction than before. Cullen buried his head in her chest, panting as he rose to meet everyone of her grinding gyrations. Their movements were becoming frantic, harried, each chasing the pleasure the other could give, and Elodie clutched tightly to her commander, alternately praying for release and hoping that this precipice of waiting would never end. Cullen pressed one hand to the small of her back, urging her close, and slid the other between them, his thumb deftly finding the nub at the apex of her folds. He rolled tight circles across the bundle of nerves and Elodie broke apart, screaming his name to the rafters as her orgasm rocked her. She could feel herself tighten along the thickness of his sex, and it drove her to new heights, extending her pleasure until she was mindless with it. Cullen quickly followed suit, his neck tense as he thrust one last time, spilling himself deep within her on a breathy groan.

The two collapsed upon the bed and said nothing for quite some time, each seeking to calm their rapidly beating hearts, and neither wanting to be the first to speak. It was almost as if my remaining silent they could keep the spell woven between them from shattering. In the end it was Elodie who rolled over on her side and regarded her commander with soft eyes.

"Thank you," she murmured sincerely, and, almost as if her words had given him permission, he gathered her into the crook of his arm, holding her close and laying a gentle kiss upon her hair.

They passed the night that way, alternating between holding one another close and engaging in carnal acts that made them both cry out in unrepentant pleasure. In between unions they spoke of trivial matters, family histories and fond memories of childhood. It was strange to think it, but Elodie learned more about her commander in those few stolen hours than she had in the last six months combined. It, as much as their love making, was a gift, and she held the memory of it close, carving out a place in her heart for this aberration of their lives. Through out the night, no matter what they spoke of, they would find their way back into each others arms, moving together with the wild abandon of two people who knew that morning was soon in coming.

When the first hazy glimpse of dawn filtered through the windows, Cullen gently eased himself from the great bed, careful not to wake Elodie who had, at last, managed to fall asleep. Silently he dressed himself, mind already thinking ahead to all that he had to accomplish that morning. When at last he was outfitted in his armor he quickly crossed to the woman who slept soundlessly upon the mattress, bending down to place a lingering kiss against her brow. When she woke they would return to who they had always been, and never once speak upon what they had shared. That had been the bargain struck between them, whispered on brandy soaked lips and agreed upon with grief stricken hearts. And yet, Cullen knew that they would find themselves here once again. This war with Corypheus was too horrifying for it not to be so. There would be more deaths, more bloodshed, and more guilt stacked upon them both, and such a weight would need to be purged, if only for a night, and so they would seek each other out, striking a new bargain with their lips and hands. But that would be later, and Cullen could be patient. Right now he had a world of problems to attend to, and so he left, taking the empty bottle of brandy with him as a token of remembrance


End file.
